BabyIt's Hard
by YoungAthletesOnIce
Summary: Little fic about Arthur and Alfred. Basically, a little glimpse into their pasts. I guess it could be coupled with my other fic "The Rose, The Pride" since it has the same basis but I just woke up so my head isn't screwed on just right.


**Baby…It's Hard**

Hello again! Just another update! Just so you know, my cannon pairing for the Hetalia fandom is USxUK. I think that's obvious^^ When I went to comicon, I bought so much Hetalia paraphernalia my mom just looked at me…Moving on. Enjoy!

_**Disclaimer**_: I do not own Hetalia…sadly. If I did, there would be WAY more fan girls squealing when they watched/read it. Such a pity…

_~Alfred's POV~_

I can't tell you how many times I've walked past that godforsaken door. A door which permeates a cold and depressing presence and yet, I always look back it, a sense of longing seen in my eyes. I always force myself past it, second glance taken but instinct ignored.

I won't go in there. Especially not today.

*Line Breaker*

I went into my kitchen and was welcomed by a homey presence; pale yet warm colors permeating through the walls and floor, however, I couldn't really appreciate it. I could only focus on the teapot on the stove heating the water for two coupled cups of black tea.

Iggy's favorite.

I had no taste for tea but today...I thought I would try it. The teapot began to hiss loudly. As I walked towards it, I caught my reflection in my metal plated refrigerator. My usual cocky, "baws" self was nowhere to be found. In its place was a stoic face with a hint of sadness in the recesses of my eyes.

Today was just not a good day.

I heard the doorbell rang and my palms instantly grew clammy. My eyebrows crawled together in a scowl as I looked at the teacups, fearing what was to come. I poured the tea, ignoring the increasingly agitated rings of the doorbell, increasing in frequency. I added sugar and milk to mine and left his black.

He always liked things tasteless, didn't he?

Finally, the door opened and I could feel the rushed footsteps growing louder to my location. With each boot that fell against the hardwood floor, I felt my heart get tighter and tighter into my chest, as if it was trying to disappear in the mass of flesh and blood in my body. I was honestly scared, which, as you know, is not the typical demeanor of one so young and so awesome.

I didn't feel so awesome today.

Those footsteps stopped in the doorway and the hair on the back of my neck prickled, feeling the glare on my back and the hatred coming from it. I flinched at the seething emotion. I clenched my fingers in front of me to force the shaking out before I grabbed the two cups of tea and turned to face him.

"What the hell? You don't know how to answer a door?" I didn't answer. "You have a key, don't you?" was what I wanted to say but I couldn't trust my voice. If it squeaked, I knew I would've lost this decisive battle between us. Instead, I walked past him into the common room and rested the cups of tea on the tea table between two chairs, in polar directions of the room.

How appropriate.

"I didn't raise such a brat." I bit my lip to fight back my retort. I wanted to yell and scream but I didn't want him to see me as the child I can be but the man that I am. I swallowed my bitter words and clenched my fists again. My nerves were just restless. "So I'm here. What do you want to talk about?" My heart sped up instantly and I had to swiftly put my hand on my chest in fear it would burst out of my chest and land on his feet. I was so scared. My eyes glazed over in frustration but I swallowed the thick lump in my throat and took a sip of my tea. The scorching liquid helped me swallow better but burned me at the same time. I didn't mind it much; I'd rather feel anything other than this apprehension I have.

"Iggy..." I stopped. I saw him flinch physically. I haven't called him that in years, he knows it too. Most of the anger poured off him and I could feel his entire demeanor switch from being enemy to being that same doting parent I fell in love with. The lump was back again and I took another sip of my hot tea before swallowing. "Arthur, I'm moving out." I could feel the air change instantly. I kept my eyes to my cup, avoiding his gaze.

How pathetic of me.

I could see the tea in the cup ripple a little and squeezed the cup tighter. Dammit! I can't break down before I say what I need to say.

"Is that so?" His voice was flat, devoid of any betraying emotion and that hurt me even more. I'd want him to be angry with me, at least. I tried to inflate what little anger I had to give me more initiative.

"Yes. I've outgrown you and I want my freedom." I placed my tea on the tea table as smoothly as I could before I subtly wiped my clammy palms on my jeans. I glanced at his hands and could see their grip on the chair he was sitting in. White knuckled grip. I hope that was because he was trying hard not to hit me.

"What makes you think you have the right to say this to me?" This angered me and I'm thankful he said that. I sat up and could feel a little defiance seep its way into my stance. I glared at his face, again emotionless.

"Because I have my own mind and my own beliefs. I need to be free of you and your suffocating rules," I said. Ouch. I know that hurt. Pain reflected in his eyes before he coughed and brought a shaking hand to his mouth to sip his tea. I instantly regretted my words because he put his tea down and got up. "Arthur?"

"Do what you want. Just know, you're fucking dead to me." And he stormed out. No backward glances. No goodbyes. Nothing. His receding footsteps were like wounds to my heart; every step was a whip, a stab, a prickling feeling that brought tears to my eyes. I angrily wiped my tears on my sleeve before getting up.

"Uwah!" I fell to the floor and shook. I had no feeling in my legs. That's just fucking great. I punched my legs angrily before bellowing out in pain. I did it once. Twice. Three times. I can't remember how many times I screamed out. I felt a riff in myself, a separation of the new and old me that couldn't agree. I wanted release and yet...I wanted Iggy.

I wanted Iggy back.

Then I broke down into a sobbing wreck.

*Line Breaker*

"England..." My voice was so empty. The rain battered against our sore and exhausted bodies as I glanced down my nose at Arthur, kneeling before me with his held hung low. My musket was pointed at his chest, ready to fire at any time. "...Get up." He flinched at my voice, which was alien even to me. I never knew that I possessed such a hard and powerful voice until we fought.

I think I could've lived without it.

He slowly rose to his feet, his red uniform stained with the unrelenting rain and mud from he ground. His hands, no longer manicured and soft, looked rugged and dirty...and I still yearned to be caressed by them. His entire body was covered in dirt and scratches, years of fighting showing in his old and sore frame. His bones creaked fro the effort and I saw him cringe in pain. I furrowed my brows and lowered my musket into standard position, straddled in my arms at the ready.

He refused to look at me, his eyes on the ground and the rain running streaks of water down his face, like tears. I flipped my musket and tipped his head back roughly with the butt of my gun. He grunted but didn't shirk away. After all these years, he no longer towered over me. In fact, I was five inches taller than him and yet I would still bow before him, if the circumstances would allow it. I no longer had the childish side of myself that would always rise to the surface whenever I was around him. It died in the war.

I died in the war.

His eyes looked defeated as he gazed into my eyes, which glared back into his own. I licked my lips in nervousness.

"I declare my independence. Do you accept?" I asked. In this moment, time seemed to stop. My eyes took in his entire form, his drenched clothes, his unruly hair and rugged whiskers. His beautiful green eyes dulled by the throes of war. I remember when they would light up in delight when I received a good mark on an English paper or get annoyed when I would break one of his precious teacups. Or look hazily back at me when I held him close.

When /he/ held me close.

He closed his eyes for a second before he whispered, barely audible in the rain, "...Yes." I dropped my musket at his feet, the weight lifting off inviting and I could feel the presence of war roll off my shoulders only to be replaced by regret. I stepped away from him and turned my back to him, taking my first steps as an individual. I paused for a second when I heard a body hit the floor.

I turned around quickly and saw him kneeling again in the mud, the rain giving him a pathetic and brooding demeanor. I resisted the urge to touch him when I turned back around and continued to walk. I felt that familiar lump rise to my throat when I heard a soft mumble. I didn't think I heard it right so I just kept going, leaving Iggy behind.

"I just didn't want you to leave."

*Line Breaker*

I stopped in my tracks. I turned around again, the third time today, at that godforsaken door. I didn't want to go in. Not today.

Especially not today.

Today was the day Iggy and I avoided each other as best we could. If we ever saw each other, unsettled emotions would come to the surface and we would feel some sort of way towards each other. I blinked and I realized I was in front of the door, with my finger clenched around the handle. All I had to do was turn it. Turn it and I would be pushed back into that time of great despair.

"Just turn the bloody handle."

I turned and saw Iggy. He was standing, wearing his unflattering sweater vest over a striped shirt with slacks. I blinked. Blinked. And blinked again.

Awkward silence.

"Yes, you git, I am here. You see?" He pinched my cheek as if to prove his point.

"Owowowowowow! Stop it!" He let go with a bemused look, however it seemed sort of forced.

"Why are you just standing there?" He asked. As if I would tell him. It may have been over 100 years since then, but that wound was still fresh for me. I still felt the hatred he had for me the day I told him I no longer needed him. I always wondered how he felt. If he really didn't care or if he was just pretending not to care. Will I ever know?

While contemplating, he opened the door and walked in.

"No! Don't go in there!" I yelled but it was too late. He walked in and my eyes immediately fell on the object he was looking at.

My toy soldier. I completely forgot I left it out in plain sight. When no one is around, I would sometimes spend hours gazing at it, letting my emotions come over me and letting tears fall in the solitary confinement of this room, never to be seen by anyone else. He walked over towards it and picked it up, his elegant fingers caressing the hat and trailing the contours of the wooden doll. I felt that same lump come back to my throat as he looked at it. I was such an idiot! I shouldn't have let him come in here! He'll probably think I'm such a petty brat.

"Arthur, I'm-"

"You kept it," He whispered. I silenced instantly as he turned, tears in his eyes. "You've kept it all these years." Tears stung my eyes as I looked at his face, strewn with tears and his hands cradling the toy...as he used to do with me. Before I could stop myself, I engulfed him in my embrace, crushing him. Of course, I kept it. Why wouldn't I? It's a part of me that I could never discard. It's why this room existed. This room was the physical manifestation of my feelings for Iggy, something that haunts me some days but comforts me most.

I brought my hand to his silky hair and grabbed tousles of it to hold him in place. I could feel his arms encroach around my back and hug me tightly. I could feel my tears threatening to fall. Heh, what the hell? I blinked and allowed them to fall into his hair. I think he felt it because he held me tighter and began to shake in my embrace.

What was the purpose of all these years of suffering? All of those lonely and depressing days without him by my side. I almost wanted to curse him and myself for our stubbornness. Oh, how I missed his feeling in my arms. It's been over a century since I've held him like this, and it was heavenly. I could die here and I would be content.

"I love you, Arthur. I always have." He whined at that and just clutched me tighter from my confession. I smiled as we both cried together in the room where it all stood. It was hard living like this all these years but what ever is easy?

Baby...it's hard.

~THE END~

A.N. Okay, so, I know that I didn't finish this with a citrisy ending but…I have my reasons. Namely, a certain mother would've killed me if she ever saw this on her laptop. Anyway, since I got a new one for Christmas (BITCHIN') there will be more citrisy endings to be had! Please review, thank you!


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